


My Fake Husband is the King

by Rogueangelll



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Arranged Marriage, Consensual, M/M, Modern AU, Oops, Porn With Plot, Smut, accidentally falling in love, this started out as a one shot, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: Hamilton is poor, desperate, and has narrowly escaped law enforcement on his various drug-related crimes.  So, as compensation, he is presented with a deal; he must marry the prince of the American Empire, or go to prison.  A life of riches sounded pretty good to him.





	1. A Strange New Start

**Author's Note:**

> This legit started out as a one shot smh then it got to be like 16,000 words

When Alexander was presented with the opportunity to marry the prince, he immediately jumped for it.

Not only would he be a goddamn heir to the throne, but he could actually help feed his family by allowing them to be royals. He could have any food he wanted without limitations. He would live in a mansion.

He would have unlimited access to pretty much every place in the country, and not to mention, unlimited access to every book and archive and resource there was!

It was practically heaven!

Except for one huge thing:   
Alexander would be expected to be silent. He would be expected to be a mere object. All he would be was a pawn in order to show a faux sense of acceptance and sensibility in America, make them seem like they tolerate and can coexist. The idea of him actually having a say in anything was practically taboo for anybody in the higher up part of the royal court.

Especially the prince, who was going to be crowned king in three weeks. Along with coronation to the throne would be his marriage. To the prince, Alexander was just going to be another nuisance. Another dull responsibility. 

So, Alexander had only one night to decide if he wanted to marry the prince. Why the prince chose him, a bastard from the Caribbean of all people, was beyond his comprehension.

A woman from the royal court had come to his house around dinner time with a summons. She was around ten or so years older than the twenty-one year old, her skin dark and her smile somewhat faux. She introduced herself as Elizabeth Freeman— "My friends call me 'Bet'," and regarded Alexander with kindness. If he didn't go along compliantly then he would be arrested and thrown in prison.  If he decided to do this, however, then he would have to attend the court at a sharp hour the next morning with all of his belongings that he could carry.

While he was eager at first, barely even doubting his shot at royalty, the official was sure to inform him of the risks. She disclosed to him, personally, that Prince John was violent. While this wasn't unheard news (it often circulated in media that John Laurens was a physical fighter) it was shocking to hear it so gravely from a member of the royal court herself.

"Have... have you ever seen him act out?" Alexander asked cautiously. They sat at his kitchen table in the small apartment in New York City.

"Uh, once for me. They think he might be troubled, but the king just outright ignored it his whole life and didn't wanna admit something was wrong with his son. So, now the prince is... to put it simply... pretty fucked up. I don't wanna to add qualms to your likely already existing ones, but I want you to know what you'd be getting in to."

"Thanks, uh... if I decide to go," he glanced off to a photo of his mother that hung on the fridge.  "...then are there restrictions on what I can bring? Like, personal belongings?"

"For the time being, no cell phones or and sort of recording devices. You have to earn that privilege since the safety of the royals is greatly guarded. No weapons, of course. Other than that, bring anything you can carry. Clothes will not be necessary but if you have family heirlooms, memorabilia, a diary, a book, whatever, that's fine," she said. Alexander nodded, understanding.

"Thanks... again. I have time to think about it?"

"Yeah. If you decide not to, then you will have to face the court and a new suitor will be chosen. But if you do," Bet handed him a card from her purse, "then be at the court tomorrow morning, ten AM sharp with your belongings. You'll be briefed and will sign legal documents, then from there transported to DC.  And above all, you must not tell anybody about this.  Trust me.  The CIA will know and they will take you into custody."

• • •

After the signing of his name a million times and being questioned over and over at the courthouse in Manhattan, Alexander was placed on a plane from a private airport located on the outskirts of upper Manhattan. He tapped his fingers against the arm rest, glancing out the small oval window as the clouds obscured the sky below them.

A about an hour and a half later, he arrived at last to Virgina where there he was escorted off of the plane and into a black car. The car drove him to the White House.

Outside stood the woman who visited him the previous evening. She was wearing more formal attire, that being a grey business skirt and white blouse with a cardigan, as opposed to the jeans and white dress shirt she wore last night. Her dark curls were pulled into a bun at the back of her head. "Miss Freeman?" Alexander felt some sort of comfort in seeing the kind woman's face.

"Alexander," she nodded curtly. "I see you decided to take the offer."

"It wasn't the easiest of decisions," he said with a reserved smile. Bet wrapped her arm around his shoulders and led him up the steps.

"Don't worry about it. You're here now, so we might as well skip the formalities and get acquainted."

"Miss Freeman—"

"You can call me Bet."

"Uh, Bet," he corrected himself. "Thank you. I wanted to ask, like, when I'd actually be meeting the prince...?"

"We have to get you checked for weapons and scanned, but then you will be having lunch with him."

"Oh. But they already checked me at the courthouse and the airport."

Bet laughed heartily. "That don't matter. They need to check you again. Lord forbid some street rat ends up killing a royal. No offense," she added hastily, "I'm from New York, too. I grew up poor, so I get the struggle."

"I'm actually from the Caribbean," he said as they walked into the building, "my mom and I moved to New York only like, six years ago with my adopted brother. Well, we call him that, he's a bit older than I am and he helped my family a lot back in St. Croix. He helped us with housework and we couldn't pay him so we let him stay with us. I mean, we were all poor and there was nothing else we could do. He was like a brother to me and I love him dearly, of course, so he came with us to New Jersey. And then to New York, where work was better. But he moved on and my mom's gone now, too.  Ah, God, I'm sorry. I usually don't tell people these things. I'm sorry."

"Aw, don't be." She pat his back.

The two were approached by three officers wearing suits. They were probably some sort of secret CIA guys, Alexander supposed. They pat him down and scanned him with metal detectors. They checked his backpack. They made him show them his legal papers, which he kept in a file in his backpack after having to collect and sign dozens at the courthouse that morning.

"What's this?" A tall man, pale skinned, held up a small ceramic box, about the size of his palm.  It was worn and engraved on it was writing in Hebrew, and underneath the Star of David. Before Alexander could respond, the agent opened the small box and pulled out several papers.

"It's, um, memorabilia," Alexander explained shyly. He didn't like to be very open about his family or religion. "The papers are just something from my Dad, from like, years ago. When I was young. Please don't take them."

The agent decided not to read them, putting the folded papers back into the box and handing the box to Alexander. Alexander held it for a second before putting it away in his backpack, mumbling a brief thanks.

They finished their search and handed back his bag and jacket, letting him be lead by Bet through the White House and to a large, studio-like board room. It looked like a business meeting would be held there.

"So, when I meet this guy, what should I say?" Alexander asked.

Bet sighed, pushing her lips out and a bit as she took a moment to think. "Be courteous. Don' try being an annoying lil' shit, I guess. There are several topics that'll get him riled up, I'm sure. But I don't know him personally. I just happen to be your escort since I live in Manhattan and I can, well, I dunno. Make you comfortable?"

"I think you're doing a pretty good job, Bet. Still freaking out since every ounce of freedom I have is being taken away, but you're doing pretty good."

"Hah. You don't have to be that worried. It ain't all your freedom."

"I'm marrying this guy.  I thought the king was more, like, religious.  Is the prince actually gay?"

"I think so.  Why would he marry a guy if he wasn't?"

"It's an arranged marriage," he reasoned, glancing off, "y'know, to make the monarchy look accepting by making the prince marry some poor sap from the city, show that it's not only the rich who get chance at ruling.  If I'm not just a pawn, an object to the prince, then I'm one to the monarchy."

"There are plenty of people in the royal court who will be there if you need.  If Prince John is invasive or violent or wants to force you to do anything—"

"What the hell does that mean?"  Alexander asked, suddenly a million times more concerned.  "Force me?  Into what?"

"Just—"

"He wouldn't actually do that, right?  Like, that's just a precaution.  Right?  A hypothetical?"

Before Bet could answer the question, the door to the board room opened.  Alexander tensed and turned slowly to where the prince stood, behind him a tall, pale man with hazel eyes in a suit.  There was a silence for a moment before John, blue eyes sharp and almost cunning.  And yet, almost anticipating and nervous.  He looked to Alexander with a sigh.

"Afternoon," he began with caution.  "It's a pleasure to meet you... uh, I'm obviously John Laurens."

"Alexander Hamilton, um, your..." he seemed unable to finish his sentence. 

Laurens looked like he could invade Poland and still keep the same stoic face.  He looked like he would snap at the drop of a dime and beat the shit out of somebody.

And that wasn't a promising look for Alexander to see.

"Right.  So... lunch?"  John offered, he himself avoiding being awkward but also avoiding being straightforward.  "Just you and I, we can get to know each other a little?  Since, uh, you'll be living here, of course."

"...Okay," Alexander agreed warily as he looked over to Bet. 

"Thank you for escorting him, Miss Freeman.  You and Lafayette may go, now.  Give Alexander and I a chance to be acquainted."

There was a tense few seconds of silence before Alexander gave a nod, consenting to the other two leaving.  They left the room and he instinctively took a step back as the door closed.

"So..." John sighed, looking down.  "Where are you from?"

"New York.  Um, well, sort of."

"I've only been to New York once.  What's it like there?"

"Depends on the season," he laughed timidly with a shrug, unable to look up.

"DC is pretty nice," John said. "I know it's not home but..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. Alexander wasn't expecting him to. "Uh, follow me. We can go get lunch."

Alexander nodded and followed the taller man out of the room, down several halls, and into a dining room on the second floor.

"This is nice," Alexander said politely. "The room, it's nice."

"Yeah, well, royal family been living here for years and years. We're going to be ruling as the seventeenth generation."

"We?"

"We're getting married, you're going to be king, too," he almost laughed, pulling out a seat for Alexander and coaxing him to sit. He then sat across from him at the mahogany table.

"You don't actually mean that. I'm just— propaganda."

"I guess that's true. What do you want to eat?" John asked. "I asked my chef earlier and lunch should be ready soon, so he's prepared several different meals."

Alexander looked away uncomfortably. "I'm not picky."

"How's Caesar salad, then? It's light, but if you want something more—"

"Salad is fine. I— sorry for interrupting you."

"...Don't be. I'll go tell the chef." He stood. "Be right back."

"Okay."

While John was gone, Alexander nervously tapped his fingers against the table. He looked down at his white dress shirt. It was the nicest article of clothing he owned. All of that would change soon, though. Tailored outfits, three meals a day without worry of where they were coming from, and best of all, he could probably convince the prince to let him go back to school, maybe instead take his classes online. It was going to be okay. He told himself this repeatedly until the presence of John, followed by a chef with two trays, came back into the dining room.

"Look at that, it's all ready!" John smiled, taking his seat again. The chef asked Alexander what he would like to drink, offering even wine, which he turned down. He just requested water.

"Do you not drink or something?" John asked.

"I'm twenty. Rather not deteriorate my body."

"Oh. Who cares? I mean," he paused, "I'm supposed to be responsible but honestly, it's just a little alcohol.  And it's legal."

"I don't care that the age is eighteen— scientists and professionals say it's better to wait 'til your twenties, when your brain isn't developing anymore."

"Whatever.  We're all slowly dying anyway, and you're in your twenties."

"Hm. Uh, how old are you?" Alexander asked, realizing that he didn't know. He was hoping he wasn't anything over twenty-five. A five-year age difference was the most he could handle.

"Twenty-two, turning twenty-three in a few weeks."

"Oh," he sighed in relief. "Good."

This meant that they only had a two-year age difference, more or less. John nodded.

"Hey, just so you know, this wasn't my choice, either," John said.

"What...?"

"My dad, he— he wanted me to marry a girl and have her as the queen. But I'm obviously... not into girls. It clearly caused trouble but I convinced him to let me marry a man as long as it benefits the kingdom— and it does, because as you said," he let out a short, bitter laugh, "propaganda. That's all... this is. On his death bed, my dad told me that he..."

After John stopped talking suddenly, Alexander couldn't bring himself to talk either. He poked at his salad and stared down. After forever, John began again:

"Sorry for getting personal. I know it wasn't your choice to be here, really. I just want you to know that this isn't ideal for me, either. I never asked to be king. My sister would better fill the role, anyway."

"Don't apologize for that. I—"

Suddenly, a girl, probably in her late teens, stormed into the room and strode towards John, quickly stopping when she saw Alexander.

"Jack, you didn't tell me— he's here already," she seemed exasperated. The girl wore a light purple cardigan over a white shirt, which went well with her dark-colored jeans and boots. Her blond hair was curled and shoulder-length. She looked much like John.

"Alexander, this is Martha. My sister," John explained, turning to her. "We were just having lunch. I thought you were watching Mary Eleanor."

"Well, I was, but she was crying and she wouldn't let me go near her. I thought it was best to go get you to help, but you're obviously busy."

"I can go help." He stood.

"No, no, sit. It's probably best to leave her be. She's still upset and you know there's not much we can do... anyway, uh... Hello, Alexander," Martha greeted him. "Sorry, I look not-great. I wasn't informed that you would be coming today."

"Hey, don't worry about it. You look good.  I knew I was coming today but I look like a street rat," he laughed.

"No, you don't," John told him.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" he said defensively. "I expected you, honestly, to look like you were born in a gutter. But you look clean."

"Clean," he repeated humorously. "Thank you, then. I try."

"You're welcome. And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"Well, am I good-looking?"

"John," Martha cut in, "stop."

Alexander laughed, "Well, I think you're pretty good-looking. Better in person than I thought."

"My, my, thank you," he laughed.

"John, you suck," Martha rolled her eyes. Then her voice became more serious. "Alexander. I am so sorry. Genuinely, this whole situation is... really messed up. I can't say I'm mad at John for it, it's not his choice either. But I'm glad the two of you are getting to know each other. Just know that everybody in the Laurens family is there for you."

"I... I don't know what to say," he laughed nervously.  "Thank you.  I don't mind it here, yet."

"Yet," John repeated.  Martha laughed and shook her head, turning to go.

"I'll leave you to your lunch, then.  And Alexander, if John starts being weird again then you have permission to punch him."

"Uh, no, you don't," John argued.  He whispered to Alexander, "Don't punch me."

Alexander whispered back, "I won't."

Martha left with another giggle and Alexander felt a bit more comfortable.  He didn't know why people were telling him that John was a rough and aggressive person.  He seemed pretty nice, as did his sister. 

The two finished up their lunch, and John coaxed Alexander out of the dining room.

"Hey, follow me.  I want to show you around a bit."

"Okay," Alexander smiled.  John led him from room to room, and even to the library and archives which for Alexander just a bit too excited.

"So, like, can I come in here whenever?"  he asked eagerly. 

"Yeah, sure.  I won't dictate what you do 24/7."

"So... if not 24/7, then will it be at all?"  he whispered seriously, though the question sounded off out loud.  John leaned back against a table in the library and sighed.

"I mean, I don't care what you do.  But in public we have to pretend to be actually married, so..."

"I get it.  Um, the whole being married thing... we're not expected to be, like, actually doing couple's-things, right?  Like... sleeping together...?"

"Well, people expect us to, obviously.  They want us to be like we're actually married." There was a beat of silence. "Not that I want to make you uncomfortable. You can always sleep in a guest room but whatever is good with you. Just have to try to make it convincing to the public."

"Convincing to the public," he repeated.

"Right.  Uh, I'll introduce you to my other siblings."  He motioned for Alexander to follow.  "C'mon."

And so, Alexander met Harry, a young teen who was slumped against the wall of his bedroom, playing his phone.  He didn't seem to care much, other than making off-handed jokes about John being gay.  They were unintentionally mean and held much of a playful tone, but Alexander could tell it bothered John a little.  Still, John just playfully messed with his brother's hair and jokingly flipped him off. 

Then, John knocked on the bedroom door with a giant poster of a realistic spider on the front.   "He put it up after the king passed," John whispered to Alexander, tapping the back of his hand against his shoulder.  "He never let him put it up, before."

"It's endearing," Alexander laughed softly, ceasing when the door opened.  Another boy, younger than Harry but not by much, stood there with a bored expression.  It suddenly picked up as he saw his older brother with Alexander.

"Jacky!  Is this—?" 

"Hey, Kid.  Alexander, this is James.  Or, Jem.  James, this is my fiancé."

"Hey," Alexander shook his hand.  James went right in for a hug, smiling wide.  John awkwardly pried him off.

"Kid, don't suffocate him.  He's been here for two hours."

"I can't believe you've kept him a secret so long!"  James exclaimed. 

"Wha—?"  Alexander began but John shushed him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder loosely.  The redhead just stood there, stoic, and forced a smile.

"I have to introduce Alexander to Mary Eleanor and get some work done, but we're having dinner together tonight so I'll have someone fetch you then, alright?"

"Kay."

When James was safely away in his room again, John pulled his arm away; and when the faux couple was down the hall, Alexander turned to John with a questioning look.

"So, Martha is the only one that knows that we aren't actually a couple..." he said slowly.  "I don't necessarily trust my other siblings to not blabber.  I'm sorry.  I should have told you."

"No, it's fine, just— we'll have to act like a couple around them, too.  The whole arm on the shoulder was weird.  I-I don't even know you."

"Well, what did you expect?"  John asked, red in the cheeks.  "You think people will just believe we're married because of some papers?"

"N-no, I just—" He backed up instinctively, rubbing his eyes.  John stayed still.  So, he went on, "I just didn't think that I'd have to pretend to be your true love 24/7.  I'm just... uncomfortable."

"Do you think I'm comfortable with this?  Maybe I want a chance for a normal life.  I never asked for this.  I never wanted to marry some stranger from the streets who's only agreeing for the money!"

"John?"  Martha appeared, leaning out of a door that had previously been closed.

"Right here," he said with a sigh, wiping the anger off of his face. 

Alexander was still tense.  What John said was true.  He really only was marrying because of the money, if not for the fact that he would have to be locked away should he have declined.  And that was not a luxury life.

"Mary is feeling better and says she wants to meet Alexander."  Martha motioned to him, stepping towards them and out of the room.  "Is... everything alright out here?"

"Just fine," Alexander answered quickly.  He couldn't start conflict on his first day.  He has to marry this man in two weeks.  Oh, God.

"Right.  Well, c'mon, then."

Alexander followed Martha and John down the hall and back to the room, where a young girl sat on a light green bed while she read.  She looked up and waved to Alexander.

"Hi," she said shyly.  Alexander waved back with a slight smile.

"Hey, Mary.  This is Alexander," John said.  "He's my, uh, fiancé."

"Does that mean you're getting married?"

"...Yes."

"So will Alexander be my brother, too?"

There was a bit of silence.  Martha and Alexander exchanged eye-contact.  John answered:

"Sure... if you want to call him that."

"So does this mean you like boys?"

John laughed, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.  "Yes."

"Okay," she shrugged. "So Alexander will be living here?"

"Yes."

"As long as he doesn't steal my room."

John, again, laughed. It was more real. "Don't worry. He's sleeping in the room upstairs."

"Your room?" she asked.

"Uh... no—"

"But he's your husband. Don't husband's sleep in the same room...?"

Alexander kept his eyes down, scratching the nape of his neck. Martha giggled nervously.

"Of course they're sleeping in the same room, Jacky is just messing with you," she said naturally. John had no protest, he couldn't blow his cover. "Anyway, it's almost dinner, right?"

"I don't think it's—"

"It's almost dinner," she repeated sternly, cutting John off. He shook his head but followed her lead anyway.

"Right, right. Alexander, why don't you come with me and we'll inquire about dinner. We can call you guys down when it's ready, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Alexander bit his lip.

"Good, come on, then."

Alexander followed him downstairs to the dining room, where he then asked timidly about Mary Eleanor's accusations.

"Don't pay attention to her, just sleep in your room at night when she doesn't notice."

Alexander made a small grunt of agreement.

"I can't say I'm liking this."

John huffed. "Yeah, well, neither am I."

"But you have money. You have power. I'm here to pretty much be—"

"Pretty little propaganda, yeah, you said that already," he finished. "Can't you just be grateful that you're getting something? Anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid," he warned slowly.

Alexander shifted from where he stood, taking a half a step backwards. He stood still, leaning against one of the chairs at the table as John continued to stand no more than a foot away. Silence stayed for several moments before he had the courage to speak up.

"I'm sorry that you feel like I only want to do this for money," Alexander said. "And... you aren't entirely wrong. It's just— I've never had this sort of thing. I've never had more than maybe two 'nice' outfits and I've never had to not worry about money at all. And I mean, you're the prince— er, soon to be king— of a whole damn country and I don't doubt that it must be stressful. But if you want this to work, and if you want people to actually buy into this stupid propaganda, then we need to work together. At least let me try to help on some things, I don't care. But we should get along. ...At least."

"I don't disagree with you, I just— it's not going to be easy."

"Yeah, it's not. But there's no backing down now."

"Right. Uh, let's get cleaned up for dinner, then," John said, motioning to the door. "I'm sorry for getting upset, I just—"

"Don't sweat it..."

• • •

"Is this all you brought?" John asked pointedly. He tossed a shift from Alexander's backpack at him. "This looks clean, wear that."

"All of it is clean," Alexander retaliated. He sighed and stared at he blue dress shirt.

"That looks the cleanest. Tomorrow I'll have to have you get some new clothes..."

"You're my fake fiancé, not my sugar daddy." Alexander pulled off his current shirt and then pulled on the button-up, tugging at the sleeves. He began to button it as John forced himself to look away from the redhead's peach-colored skin.

"Ew. That's disgusting. But you should still have nice clothes. Just don't make it weird."

"This whole damn situation is weird," he reminded. "Don't think it could get weirder."

"Is 'weirder' even a word...? Damn, I feel like a moron. Of course it is. Right?"

"Weirder is a word, I think. 'More weird' sounds weirder. Wait, what?" He laughed at himself and sighed, finishing up the last button.

John stood up from the floor and grabbed his wrist, practically yanking him to the master bathroom that connected to his bedroom. "Comb? Gel? Do you use anything for your hair?"

"I... comb it...?" Alexander took the comb and began to comb back the red curls, making him look a lot sharper. Then he turned on the faucet, drenched it, and combed his hair with the water to impress John. (John was slightly amused.) He then set aside the comb and turned on his heel, almost bumping against John.

"Sorry," John apologized. Alexander mumbled something resembling an apology as well and followed John downstairs.

• • •

Dinner was weird. Alexander felt like he was a part of a family, and yet so out of place. Like a puzzle piece that was meant to fit but just couldn't turn in the right way to make it stay. That's how he felt. Like he should feel natural like this.

Instead, as he picked at roast beef and carrots (they tasted quite amazing, honestly) and listened to the deafening silence. So out of place.

"So, how long have you guys actually been dating?" Harry asked in attempt to make conversation. John and Alexander struggled for an answer before Alexander said:

"God, I don't know, a while now," he laughed nervously and glanced at the blond man beside him. "Do you remember, hun?"

"At least a year," John answered, holding a gaze with Alexander for a moment more before ripping it away. "Maybe more, hah, I don't know. But we've been waiting for forever to actually get married."

"Dad said it was bad," Harry said.

"Dad said what was bad?"

"Being gay."

"...Yeah, so what?"

"Well, I'm just sayin', it's pretty cool you kept it from him for so long."

Martha interrupted. "Henry Laurens Jr. Stop being a pain."

"Sorry, it was a compliment. Nothin' gets past Dad."


	2. Some Sort of Connection

"Jacky!" Mary Eleanor knocked on the older sibling's bedroom door impatiently. After a moment, John answered, wearing sweatpants and a tee.

"Mm— what is it, Mary Eleanor?" He asked as he ran his fingers through his soft hair.

"I came to say goodnight to you and Alexander!" She smiled sweetly, looking past him and into the bedroom. She frowned. "...Where is he?"

"He, uh, was grabbing some of his stuff, he'll be back. Go on to bed, now."

"But I wanted to say goodnight..." she whined.

John was faced with a difficult choice. After a moment, he reluctantly led her down the hall to Alexander's room. He knocked and Alexander answered.

"Hey, hun, you coming to bed soon?" John asked awkwardly.

Alexander was about to reply with a blunt, sarcastic answer, when he noticed Mary Eleanor standing beside John. He let out a growl. "I'm a little busy."

"With what?" John chuckled at his own joke then quickly stopped. "...Sorry."

"Just— writing. I'll come to bed soon."

John made intense, intrusive eye-contact. He motioned to Mary Eleanor and, Alexander, exhausted and standing in his joggers and a tank top, made the decision to give in. He followed them back and sat on the end of the bed. Mary Eleanor climbed up after him, hugging him tightly. He bit his lip and looked at John, mouthing, 'What the hell do I do?'

John shrugged and sat next to Alexander. Alexander forced himself to stay still rather than shifting away. He didn't want to look suspicious. 

"Alexander, can you read me a story?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, Mary Eleanor, I—" he stammered hopelessly. He just cut himself off and shrugged. "Okay."

She happily ran out of the room and down the stairs to her bedroom to retrieve a book. Alexander glanced over at John and shifted away at last.

"I'm sorry about her, she— she's been very clingy ever since Dad, and I guess that's her way of coping with it... I don't want to make her sad," John mumbled distantly. 

"I— I understand. It has to be hard on you, too."

"Hah. Sure, I guess. But he was always busy and judgmental and controlling and I just— I always told myself I'd be better off without him, but now he's gone and I really wish he was back."

"I understand," Alexander repeated insistently. "You don't have to feel ashamed of it..."

"Don't try to be empathetic, Alexander. I don't even know you."

"...But I—"

Mary Eleanor interrupted him as she came back into the room with a smile. She held up a book that read, "Grimm's Fairy Tales" on the cover. Alexander took it, letting her sit next to him as he scooted back on John's bed. John got up to "go to the bathroom" when he really was just trying to escape this scene.

"Can you read me, 'The Elfin-Grove'?" 

"Sure," Alexander smiled a little bit as he found the page, confirming it was the right one, and began to read. "'Hope,' said a woodman one day to his wife, 'that the children will not run into the fir-grove by the side of the river'..."

Meanwhile, John sat against the door on the inside of his bathroom and listened. He listened to Alexander read the story, staying silent. After a while, he stepped out again. Alexander was still reading.

"...And Mary called her first little girl Elfie, in memory of her friends. The little thing was loved by every one," he read tiredly. Mary was leaned against his right, both laying back on the left side of the bed. John pulled himself up onto the bed on the right side and laid down. He took a heavy breath.

John looked up, somewhat in and out of sleep, when he realized Alexander had trailed off and stopped reading. It was almost ten at night. He pushed himself off of the bed and wandered aimlessly towards the light. He then stood still, hand over the switch, and looked at Alexander and Mary Eleanor, lounged out and fast asleep. The story book laid limp in Alexander's hand, his cheeks flushed a gentle peachy pink and his red hair a mess. Mary Eleanor was more or less sprawled out, her darker hair plating against her pale skin. It was in a French braid, no doubt one that Martha had put in for her before bed.

John debated in his mind whether or not to ask Alexander if he was awake. Eventually, he just shut off the light and went to lay back down on top of the covers.

• • •

Alexander woke up early in the morning, feeling a yawn build in his throat. The room was unfamiliar and for a moment gave him a sense of nostalgia mixed with the sense of being an outsider. He soon realized where he was; Washington D.C., and would be marrying the prince in one week, six days. The realization hit him like a truck. The realization hit him hard. He sucked in a breath and continued to stare at the wall.

Suddenly, a more intense realization hit him— he wasn't in the guest room. He sat up and looked around, seeing Mary Eleanor's small frame between him and John. Alexander rubbed his eyes.

Upon hearing his wake, John then stirred as well. He had a more vivid remembrance of last night.

"Shi— I fell asleep in here," Alexander stated quite obviously. "I'm sorry, I just— ugh. That won't happen again." He stood up slowly and made his way to the door.

"I didn't want to wake you up. You fell asleep reading to her."

"No, it's fine, I guess. As long as it wasn't... weird. Which it wasn't, of course, your little sister was in the bed."

"I don't know you. Why would it be weird?"

"Uh... exactly?"

"No, I mean, why would it get weird? Why would two strangers..." he glanced to the sleeping Mary Eleanor, then sighed. "...get it on just because they're sleeping in the same bed?"

"No reason," he answered all too quickly, standing still. He didn't want to mention the comments people made to him about the prince; how he was violent or how they alluded to him using him. How even though it seemed like bullshit to Alexander, he was still a little nervous. He had only known John for one day, after all. What if he got like that after he was settled?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," John told him, sensing the uneasiness in the room. "I wasn't thinking."

"No, like I said, it's fine." He turned, glancing off the the door. "Well, I should get dressed, then."

"Yeah, you did fall asleep pretty early. For a young adult such as yourself, I mean. You look like more of a type to be up all hours of the night. N-no offense."

"None taken, 'cause I am. I'm an insomniac." He laughed. "Something like that. There's lots of little somethings wrong with me."

"Good English."

"Thank you."

John shook his head and chuckled. "No problem."

"Right. Sorry, again, I'm going to go get dressed. Ha, um, should I be at breakfast at a certain time?"

"No, I really don't care." John paused when he realized how bad that sounded. "I mean, it doesn't matter when you want to eat. But if you want, I'm about to get up and get dressed so maybe in an hour...?"

"Okay, sure. Sure."

Alexander left the room and went to get dressed, John waking up his little sister.

"Hey, Polly," he shook her shoulder gently. Mary Eleanor stirred and awoke after several moments, her grey eyes focusing on John. "Fell asleep when Alexander was reading to you, goofball."

"Oh," is all she said. She looked half-asleep.

"Go get dressed," he chuckled at her. "Then you can go eat breakfast, 'Kay?"

"Can we go to the stables and show Alexander them?"

"Uh, maybe later. Maybe closer to lunch time."

"Okay." She nodded and slid off the bed, slowly drifting towards her room downstairs.

John got up, closed the door, and went to his bathroom to take a quick shower. As the water rushed over his shoulders he had a strange thought process— one in which Alexander slept in his bed again, but this time without Mary Eleanor. He didn't know why he had it. It disturbed him, even. He suppressed it and rinsed the shampoo from his blond hair, eyes squeezed shut. He thought again of Alexander, but it wasn't him— it was another.

Then, he got out and dried his body and hair, and found a nice outfit to wear. Nice, dark jeans pants, a light blue dress shirt with a grey jacket over it, matched with a brown belt and brown and blue Vans. He was going for business casual, hoping he looked nice as he combed his hair as he did every morning. He admired how sharp he looked in the mirror; how alert, attentive, and overall just nice.

Downstairs, Mary Eleanor was talking Alexander's ears off about the horses at the stables upstate, as she held his hand and dragged him around the downstairs. Most of the rooms he had already seen, of course, as John showed him yesterday, but he decided to play along with the young girl anyway.

After several rooms, she brought him to the kitchen. On their way there, however, they ran into John— looking sharp as hell, especially compared to Alexander's attempt at jeans and a shirt with a sweater vest— who greeted them and smiled at his Mary Eleanor.

"Good morning," he decreed, glancing to the dining room. "So, breakfast?"

"What's for breakfast?" Alexander asked as Mary Eleanor let go of his hand and ran out of the dining room. He sighed. "Where's she going?"

"To tell her siblings to get their asses up." He smiled. "Something like that, at least."

"Fun."

"So, breakfast, what do you want? Pancakes, scrambled eggs, waffles, omelettes, bacon, sausage—"

"Oh, I don't— I don't really care," Alexander laughed nervously. "Sorry, I'm usually more decisive."

"Don't worry about it. Uh, can't remember, but you don't have any allergies, right?"

"Nope."

"Then how does omelettes and bacon sound?" John began towards the kitchen, Alexander following timidly. "You like coffee?"

"Sounds good, and yes."

John nodded. He was immediately met with a woman tapping his shoulder and gesturing to the pot, then asking if he wanted her to pour some. Alexander only now realized how good the freshly brewed coffee really smelled. It was like it was detoxifying his brain.

John turned down her offer and instead poured Alexander some coffee, then got out the milk, creamer, sugar, and flavor shots. Alexander couldn't help but laugh a bit at the myriad of items needed for a simple cup of coffee.

"We have different types of milk if you'd like," John said. Alexander stared blankly at his mug, which was filled about 3/4 of the way with just coffee. He looked up at the taller man.

"I'm fine. Um, what do I do with all this stuff?"

"You put it in your coffee?" John laughed as he continued to make his own mug.

"No, I mean, like, how do I know how to make it good? Can you make it?" he asked. John paused and turned to him.

"Sure. How sweet? Flavor?"

"Vanilla is fine, and not overly sweet, y'know? But not bitter."

"Okay." He motioned for Alexander to come closer. Then, he grabbed the items he needed. "First, put in three pumps of this vanilla syrup." He pumped the syrup in. "Then, about two small spoons of sugar, maybe a little less. Go light on it." He added the sugar, leaving the spoon in. Then, he uncapped the milk and began to pour. "Fill it almost to the rim, little less. Then stir," he said as he stirred with the spoon, then tapped the side with the charming silverware, "and there you go. It's a little hot but should be fine. Here, try it." John held up the spoon with some coffee on it, and moved it slowly to Alexander's lips. Alexander cautiously accepted and, after burning his tongue a bit on the liquid, made a small noise of approval.

"That's amazing," he hummed. "What kind of bean is that?"

"Oh, uh, just a regular breakfast blend. It's my favorite."

"I love it. I could get used to amazing coffee on the daily."

John chuckled. "Well, you'll have to learn how to make it yourself. I'm not assembling it daily."

"Awe, but yours tastes the best. You're a coffee mixologist."

"Thank you."

• • •

Breakfast came at last, all of the siblings sitting down with the soon-to-be-weds. Alexander and John sat next to one another; Mary Eleanor sat besides Alexander; Martha sat across from John, next to her Harry on her right and James on her left. They were eating omelettes, bacon, and toast (all of which cooked to perfection).

"So," Harry began to pry, a soft smirk on his lips, "is New York where you disappeared to every other weekend?"

John tensed and glanced at Alexander. "Sometimes." It had been a lie, of course, but was rather conveniently placed. 

"Ooh, bet Dad would've liked that."

"Harry," Martha scolded. "Stop. Right now. Why can't you be happy for John for once in your life?"

"I'm just saying."

"I like Alexander," Mary Eleanor piped up. "He read to me last night. And he's nice. Even though he's gonna be king."

Alexander looked a bit confused, so Mary Eleanor took it upon herself to explain.

"Well, we've only ever had kings minus one time we had a Queen for like, four years-ish... I think it would've been nice to have a queen. Like Martha. She's a grown-up, so why does Jacky get to be king and she can't be queen?"

Martha covered her mouth to stifle laughter and John just sighed, the smile evident on his lips. John said to Alexander quietly, "She's very concerned about women's rights. All her life. Like, ever since she was really, really little. I don't know why."

"Because it's important to her," Martha defended. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"Maybe that's why," he joked as he stage-whispered, pointing to Martha. Alexander scoffed and went back to eating. "Friendly sibling banter," John reminded.

"Sexism," Mary Eleanor corrected. Harry just burst out laughing, James being slightly indifferent as he drank his orange juice.

"How old is she, again?" Alexander asked.

"Seven."

"That's superb."

"Superb," John repeated with a laugh. 

"Don't be mean to him," James said. "Just 'cause he uses fancy words doesn't mean you can be mean."

"I wasn't, I wasn't. I swear." He continued to laugh.

"How come you guys don't look like a couple?"

"Hm?"

"Aren't couples supposed to, like, kiss? And stuff? Or hug or hold hands? That's what straight couples do."

Alexander blushed a bit and stared at his breakfast. 

James went on. "Are gay couples different? My friend said they're weird."

"Gay couples aren't any different than straight couples," Alexander defended, though slightly out of line.

"Alex is right, it's just the difference between having a boy and a boy versus a boy and a girl. Or a girl and a girl. It's still two people who love each other," John said. Martha looked mildly surprised at him, eyes wide. She averted her eyes to James.

"Oh... Dad said it was bad."

"Well, Dad was wrong," John mumbled. Martha nearly choked on her food.

"So, can you guys kiss? I've never seen gay people kiss," James asked innocently. It wasn't ill-intended whatsoever, as opposed to Harry making fun of his older brother (in a joking way, of course, as he had no intent to hurt him.)

"Not at breakfast."

"You should," Harry piped up. Alexander scowled at the floor.

"Harry, James, stop. Not appropriate for breakfast," Martha commanded, shooting Alexander an apologetic look. Alexander forced himself to look away, thus meeting John's almost curious gaze. They maintained eye-contact for several moments.

John, eyes still locked with Alexander's, said: "Yeah, don't be rude. Alex has only been here for like, a day."

"Thank you," Alexander whispered under his breath, smiling at John. John just nodded and looked back at his food. 

Later that day, John led Alexander to get clothes tailored. Much to both of the men's relief, as Alexander was happy to have new, fitting clothing and John was happy to see him look so clean and sharp. It gave him a low-key satisfied feeling. He smiled at the way Alexander posed in front of the mirror when he thought John hadn’t been watching. It was both funny and endearing.


	3. Poetry

Almost a week passed of Alexander getting used to the Laurens family and the Laurens family getting used to him. He had gotten away with sleeping in the guest room every night except one, where Mary Eleanor, again, wanted him to read to her. By that time it was almost ten PM and she was adamant in making sure the couple slept in the same bed. She left after Alexander had fallen asleep, though, and John was too tired to care.

Other than that, things were going well. While he had only known the prince for a week, Alexander was sure that he wasn't a bad person. Mostly. Certainly wasn't the man who was described to him, at least.

After that first week, things got easier. Alexander talked to John somewhat normally, too. They ate breakfast together, (John still making Alexander's coffee, as the man was apparently incompetent) and lunch and dinner, and pretty much spent every hour talking or just hanging out. Minus when John had legal duties and a country to run, or when they got somewhat sick of one another.

"Can I call a friend?" Alexander asked one day. It was one week before the wedding and he hadn't spoken at all to any of his friends.

"Yes, of course?" John nearly laughed, confused. "Why do you ask?"

"Um, the government kind of told me I couldn't have my phone or any sort of electronic communication or recording device?"

"They did? Well, they suck." He paused. "You can use my office phone. You seriously haven't talked to her since you left?"

"No, and he's probably worried. All my friends have seen is media coverage about our 'engagement' or whatever. I probably look so different to them..."

"You don't really talk about them."

"I know. I miss them, though. Like, I'm a grown man, but I honestly do. And my friend's all I really have left. I told him I was leaving, and didn't really explain why other than that I was moving and getting married.  He seemed a little pissed."

"W—? I'm sorry, you lost me there. Does this mean your he knows that this is fabricated?"

"No, no. But, I mean, I couldn't exactly get a visit from the FBI and leave the next day without explaining just to get hitched to the prince. Then he'd start asking around, make a big deal, spam the shit out of me.  I told him I'd invite him."

"He knows we're getting married, then."

Alexander huffed. "Yeah.  What, so we just don't invite him to the wedding? Pretend that we were lovers right under his nose this whole time?"

"My siblings believe it."

"They're kids. John, could I please just go talk to my friend? Can we talk about this later?"

"Fine." He rolled his eyes. "Phone's in my office."

Alexander nodded gratefully before turning down the hall to go to John's office, John not following.  He waited for Alexander to go before slowly creeping after him, unapologetically eavesdropping.

After the phone rang a few times, Mulligan finally picked up.  It was sometime after dinner (nearly eight PM, as Alexander knew he got out of work at six on Fridays) and he was getting ready to go to bed.  He began with a groggy, "Hello?"  And when he heard his friend's voice on the other end, his eyes opened wide.

"Herc?"  Alexander smiled to himself.  "It's Alexander."

Mulligan didn't know what to say for a moment.  His silence made Alexander nervous.  But at last Mulligan said, "Alexander..."

"Hey," he smiled wider.  "Hey, Herc.  Um... I wanted to finally talk to you.  I'm calling on John's phone.  How are you?"

"Prince John.  I've seen the news and stuff, so it's— it's really true?"

"Yeah.  What, did you think that I was lying?"

"Hah, maybe."  Mulligan laughed.  "Thought maybe you ran again, used that as an excuse.  The marriage thing.  But when I saw on the news that you were marrying the fucking future king, I had a heart attack.  Can't believe you hid something like that from me."

"I hid it from everyone.  You don't exactly go about blabbering when you date the prince of a fucking country."

"Makes sense."

• • •

After saying their final goodbyes, Alexander hung up the phone. He turned with a sigh to the door, where John was leaned against the frame, eyes carefully watching the scene. A bit pissed off, Alexander said:

"Were you seriously eavesdropping?"

"Sort of," John shrugged, having been caught. "Good going at not being too exploitive on the phone, by the way. Would hate for a phone company to intercept the call or something and expose this."

"You say that like you're accusing me of something."

"Not accusing you of anything. Just pissed since I didn't know you told your friend about this before you even left."

Alexander growled under his breath in response. "Whatever. Look, John, we need to talk. About this whole wedding thing, y'know?

"What about it?"

"Mulligan needs to come, okay? And I just— I don't care what I have to do for the cameras, for the media, for the public, in order to make this convincing.  All I ask is to see him, please.  That's all I want."

"What's he to you?"

"Uh, does it matter?"

"Yes."

"He's— like my guardian.  After my mom died, he took me in.  He's the cousin of a guy from back in the Caribbean that knew my mom.  He's one of the few people who have been there for me."

"Of course he's coming to the wedding," John said, eyes focused on Alexander's.  "Who else?"

"What do you mean?"  Alexander asked.

John uncrossed his arms.  "Who else was included in the few people who were there for you?"

"Um, well, there's Thomas and Edward Stephens.  Thomas is Edward's dad.  They let me stay with them when my dad left and... my mom was kind of in a slump for a while.  Edward came with us to America.  He's like my brother.  And Ajax and I have talked in years.  He moved to North Carolina.  And then there's Aaron Burr and Robert Troup.  They were my roommates in freshman year of college.  Don't talk to them much either but sometimes we'd hang out, talk, debate."

"And...?"

"And, I guess that's it."

"Okay, I'll find their mailing addresses and send them all plane tickets and invites.  I'll pay for their rooms in a hotel."

Alexander, baffled and caught off guard, just laughed.  "You don't really mean that, do you?"

"Yes, Alex, I'm joking about inviting the people you care about to our wedding because fucking with you is funny," said John sarcastically.  He crossed his arms once again.  In a more genuine tone he reassured, "No, I'm inviting them.  Unless you don't want me to."

Alexander sighed in relief, bracing his own arms in a hug.  John was several feet away.  He stepped closer.

"This is going to be difficult," Alexander whispered.  "I mean, as far as pretending we're a real couple and all, I feel like we could barely convince your siblings.  God, especially Mary Eleanor, she's— hah.  Something..."

"Hey, I'm sorry for all this.  I know you didn't have much of a choice, and I hate that you were dragged into it."

"You've said that."

"I know.  But I really am sorry.  Not like, pity-kind of sorry, but really, really sorry."  He laughed bitterly and rolled his eyes.  "Sorry.  Fuck."

"It's fine.  But, hey, at least we don't hate each other, right?  I mean, you might hate my guts— but I don't hate yours.  You seem like a good guy and— well, I don't know.  I think this could work if we're at least friends, y'know?  It'll be a lot easier to kiss when we do our vows if we don't want to kill one another."

John laughed.  "I don't hate your guts.  You're pretty cool, too, Alex."

"Thanks," he smiled. 

• • •

"You invited his friends?!"  Martha asked, eyebrows knit together.  She pointed an accusing glare at John and continued to pace the kitchen.

"Shut up— yes.  Don't be too loud.  Everyone is sleeping," he reasoned.  "And yes, I sent them the plane tickets and everything already so there's no backtracking.  Alexander already talked to them each on the phone."

"You are a fucking idiot," she whispered. 

"Hey, it's his friends.  Jesus Christ, what's the problem?  Won't the tabloids be up our asses if we don't invite them?  They're like his family."

"Fine.  Whatever.  I just don't see why you did it.  Since when do you want to do nice things for him?"

"Excuse you?  It's the least I could do for him.  He doesn't want to be here.  If I was in his position, I'd at least expect something like this."  He paused and groaned.  "Why the hell are you so against treating him with kindness?"

"Because it's unlike you.  John, I don't even know you anymore!  Bashing our dad over breakfast, showing your colors, being nice to somebody who is nothing but government propaganda and is fucking up your life—"

"Fuck you, Martha," he said, angry now.  "I'll go back into a fucking closet if it makes you happy, huh?  Let my little sister and brothers grow up believing that being gay is a sin, let them grow up how I did and barely be able to live their lives and be happy when they're adults!  Is that what you fucking want?  You want me to run away and be a closeted, homophobic shit-head who's an asshole to everybody for no reason?"  When she didn't answer, John growled.  "Fucking tell me."

She continued to stay silent.  He scoffed and rolled his eyes before turning and going back upstairs.  He tried to calm himself down but failed, his fists staying closed. 

When he was upstairs in the safety of his bedroom and changed into some sweatpants and a tee, John heard a knock on his door.

"Come in, unless you're Martha," he called half-heartedly.  The door opened slowly, revealing Alexander, eyes worrisome.  "Oh," John mumbled.  "Hey."

"Hey, um, are you busy?" He paused and smiled a bit shyly. "Sorry, I heard you arguing with Martha and... wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't hear what it was about."

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Okay. Hey, do you mind if I show you something I wrote? I wanted an outsider's opinion."

John half-laughed and said, "I don't mind."

"Cool, cool." He dug into his sweatshirt pocket and handed him a folded piece of paper. John unfolded it and scanned his eyes over each stanza.

"I didn't know you write poetry."

"It hardly counts as poetry," he reasoned. "—but thank you."

John continued to read, backing up slowly to his bed and sitting on one end at the foot of the mattress. Alexander sat on the other end, several feet away. John had to read the short poem a few times before he could give criticism.

"So, uh, this is really good, Alex. Honestly," said John. After several moments Alexander gave him a questioning look.

"...But...?"

"No but. It's really good."

"Thanks." He looked at the blond man curiously, not believing him. "Any criticism is not only needed, but wanted, just so you know."

"No, it's good. I mean, structurally, and the poem itself is beautiful. You can't really revise poetical art. But if I had to say something, it's just a couple of spelling errors."

"Spelling errors? No way, where?"

"Here, you spelled 'conscience' wrong."

"Did not!" he protested, sliding over to sit closer to John. John pointed out the word. "How is that wrong?"

"'Conscience' doesn't have an 'f'."

"Oh, okay, Mr. Perfect. I'm sorry," Alexander snarked.

"Hey, you asked. And among this are other spelling mistakes, like here you wrote—"

"Okay, okay, John. I get it. I'll type it out and put it through spellcheck sometime. If I get the privilege to use electronics ever again, that is. I'm practically a prisoner."

"Who we serve pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate sauce to every morning."

Alexander playfully rolled his eyes and flipped John off.  "Right. If you're done criticizing me, I'm gonna go to bed."

"Suit yourself," John said with a light pat to Alexander's shoulder. "Night."


	4. Can You Hear The Church Bells?

Alexander joyously dragged Edward around to meet John's siblings. The wedding reception was in six hours, and the Stevens had just flown in early that morning from New York. It was a surprisingly happy occasion. John was running around to frantically get in a last word with the wedding planners, Martha was rounding up the younger siblings, and Alexander was convincing himself it was all going to work out.

"Oh, my God! I wish we had time to go to the stables," Alexander said, smiling. "John likes horses. He showed me how to ride. I'm not good or anything but I can at least trot. Oh—!" He stopped his thought, seeing John walk by hurriedly. "John!"

John hummed and walked backward slowly so that he could face Alexander, still in a rush.

"Do you think we'd have time to show Ed the stables after the wedding?"

"It's a nice thought, but no," John said, shaking his head as he spun back around and walked forwards again. "Sorry!" he called back, "Just not enough time!"

"Maybe next time you visit, then," he said softly to his adoptive brother. Edward just laughed. "Ed..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here. Sorry for not telling you sooner."

"It's okay," he chuckled, pulling him into a hug.

• • •

Later that day, after being forced into a white suit and being groomed and having makeup forcibly applied— both Alexander and John were forced to wear a little bit of blush and some mascara for a more flattering camera appearance— Alexander was led out to a corridor. In just a moment, he'd be walking down the aisle with a forced smile and a flower girl by his side. Mary Eleanor was the flower girl, of course.

"I guess Mary Eleanor is giving me away," Alexander teased Thomas Stevens with a wink, glancing to Mary Eleanor who giggled. They were awaiting the church organ to begin playing to go. Just like at rehearsal.

"Nonsense," Thomas Stevens said, eyes cutting to Alexander. They suddenly heard the first familiar notes play.

Mary Eleanor got into place, smoothing her blue dress, and watched the doors open. She held her basket proud and led down the aisle with a wide smile. The church was filled more with parliament members and other wealthy people than with relatives. A few cousins, an uncle here or there, and that was about it. Still, everybody was dressed nice and watched Mary Eleanor lead with pride.

Followed her was Alexander in his white suit, red curls gelled back and combed, with Thomas Stevens in a blue suit similar to that of Mary Eleanor's attached at his arm. They walked slowly and for the first time since earlier that afternoon, Alexander saw John.

John stood there in a white suit as well, a matching blue bow tie, and his hands clasped behind him. He played the part of an eager fiancé well, his smile wide in anticipation. Next to him stood Martha in her blue dress, then Harry and James in black suits with matching blue bow ties.

John looked at Alexander as he walked down the aisle— really _looked—_ and saw somebody he had never seen before. Whether the smile was feigned or not was difficult to tell, and because it was usually so easy for John to read Alexander. Was he really, truly smiling? It looked real, but what reason would Alexander have to genuinely smile on this occasion?

John ignored it and continued to smile. Finally, the vows were being exchanged. He stared at the redhead in front of him, smiling softly. They held hands. He could only notice how warm Alexander was.

"And do you, John Laurens, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness, in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish?"

"I do," he said, not hesitating. The words rolled off of his tongue and suddenly, it became an unbreakable bond. It was inescapable, now.

As John slid the ring onto Alexander's finger, he could only look into his eyes. Alexander gave him a look that only John and John alone could read as worrisome. It was the same face he had when he came into his bedroom after hearing him argue with his sister. It was distinctive.

"You may now kiss the groom."

Both stood there for a hesitant second, hands clasped together. This was it, just a kiss. The hard part was over.

John leaned forward enough, Alexander meeting him in the middle and pressing his lips to his. It felt like nothing, and yet a million emotions played through his brain. Alexander could only imagine the way John felt.

After several seconds, they pulled away, hearing a chorus of claps and cheers. Both waved out and smiled to the crowd, joining together their hands and smiling. John kept a tight grip on Alexander's hand as they began back down the aisle together, followed by Martha, Alexander's mother, James, Henry, and Mary Eleanor.

Soon, the church of people filtered to a larger, more open part of the church that was set up with chairs and tables, and an open middle for dancing. A softer band was playing now— live, of course— with some lively music in a chorus of string, percussion, and woodwinds. Somehow, it sounded delightful. A woman in a purple gown began singing softly, vocalizing almost as if testing the waters.

"Hard part is over," John whispered to Alexander once they were left behind by the crowd. "Let's go stuff our faces, _honey._ "

"Oh, my God," Alexander chuckled under his breath, pulling away from John's arm to go greet his own family. Thomas and Edward Stevens congratulated him.

Alexander and John went on their way to get food first and sat at a table with a blue tablecloth, whereas the rest were larger and had white. It was at the head of the room, piled on a table next to it were gifts. They sat with their food, watching as everybody else in the room went for it as well, now.

"Hey, you okay?" Alexander whispered to John subtly.

John, with suddenly blinking eyes, answered: "Yeah, it's just... sad. That this isn't real. That... neither of us are going to get to marry who we really love."

"I know," he said. "But... we should just make the best of it."

"You're optimistic."

"No, I'm a realist. And the reality is that we can't do shit about this now, so we should go with it."

"Fuck you," John whispered with a laughed, glancing down to his plate bitterly. "Sorry. I'm just— y'know."

"Eh, don't sweat it. Fuck you, too," he chuckled. John lightly hit his arm and continued to chuckle softly. "So... we just sit here, right? And eat and then before dessert the best man makes a speech. Or, Martha."

"Yeah, Martha's gonna give a speech. And then we cut the cake, dance, have some drinks, et cetera, et cetera. Just relax and don't say anything to anybody you don't know unless you're with me or they approach you first."

"O-Kay," he said, stretching the "o," "I'll just stick to you the entire time. Like a fly on that sticky ribbon shit you hang from the ceiling."

"Flytrap?"

"Is that really what it's called?"

"Mhm."

"Oh." He chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Okay. That. But I like 'sticky ribbon' better. You're the sticky ribbon to my fly."

"Romantic."

"John," a figure said as he approached, smiling. He had a woman next to him, though she was more focused on Alexander. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," John said as he stood and shook the man's hand. "Alex, this is my aunt and uncle. They came from England for the wedding."

Alexander stood as well with a smile as he shook each person's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. I'm happy to see you're marrying off, finally," the uncle, James, laughed. "Your father would be... proud. I'm sure you're going to make a fine king. I'll be in town for your coronation, too, by the way."

"Oh, I'm sure," John simply continued to smile, even though Alexander could sense something was wrong.

The aunt and uncle parted, giving Alexander and John some space. Alexander quickly turned to him.

"Hey, you okay?" he whispered. John just shrugged, letting out a caustic laugh.

"He wouldn't be proud of me. And my uncle knows that." He rubbed his temples. "My dad was never proud of me."

"C'mon, I'm sure that's not true."

"You wouldn't know. We're not really lovers, we don't have years of bonding and affectionate conversations for you to know what my family was like before he left."

"I know, but..."

"You wouldn't know what it's like to have a parent just missing from your life and then your only one left being a dick to you. He's manipulative and I could barely breathe around him!  I hate to say that since he's my dad, but he's gone now, and nothing really matters anymore."

"John," Alexander said, insistently. He lightly touched John's wrist, which resided limply in his lap. "I do know what it's like. My dad left when I was ten, and when he calls it's not to ask how my mom and I are doing. It was out of obligation and—" he let out a sigh. "Even my mom was never around much. Always working. And she got sick and didn't have a lot of... time for me, and had to work because of it. And after my dad left she was so depressed and I..."

"Alex— do you want to talk more about this when we get home?" John paused, his hand on Alexander's shoulder. "I don't want to dismiss it, but we should hold this off until we're in private."

"Good idea. I'd rather not cry at our wedding."

"Hah."

The two proceeded to greet people, still eating at the head of the room. After a while, when people were finishing up, Martha stood and clinked her spoon against a glass of wine. She grinned as the room quieted and began to speak.

• • •

After Martha's speech, she gave room on the dance floor for Alexander and John to have the first slow dance of the evening. The two set down their drinks and walked shoulder-to-shoulder to the middle of the room as a slow music, led by an acoustic guitar, began. The singer didn't sing. The instruments almost resembled wedding bells played by the organ earlier.

John warily took Alexander's hand. He laced their fingers. Alexander's hands suddenly felt so much more— what was it?— comforting? Maybe it was tending to his touch of OCD, seeing as the shorter man's hand fit so perfectly with his.

"I've never danced like this before," Alexander mumbled under his breath to John. John let out a short laugh and took his other hand, pulling him a bit closer.

"Follow my lead and stay close," he murmured, leading one of Alexander's hands to his own shoulder. Alexander got the hint and put his hand on the back of John's neck, feeling John's hand move to his side. They pressed a bit closer.

John led, taking a step back, a half-step to the side, then a half-step forward. He repeated this in variations while slowly revolving, dancing with Alexander closely. Alexander had to admit that this was fun, exciting; being in the center of attention, trying something new, _dancing,_ it was spectacular. He laid his head on John's shoulder for emphasis, otherwise feeling awkward staring at the people around them. John leaned his own head against Alexander's, careful not to smother himself in Alexander's gelled back hair.

"This is fun," Alexander said just barely. Even if people had noticed him moving his lips, ever so slightly, they wouldn't have been able to hear what he said. "You know, before I met you, people warned me that you were ill-tempered, or violent, or whatever, but... that really isn't the case. They just don't know you."

In an equally soft tone, John replied, "Oh. Thank you. And you're a natural born dancer, Alex."

Alexander laughed softly to himself.

"It's true," John insisted.

"Only 'cause we're moving slowly in circles. It's hardly dancing."

"Fine, I'll show you dancing," he murmured. Alexander felt him release his hands and pull away. John kept a hand on Alexander's waist and led him into a spin, then dipped him, making Alexander just laugh ridiculously. He stayed there, hovering above the floor, being supported by John's arms. John smiled and couldn't contain his laughter either.

Alexander, in one swift movement, leaned up and locked lips with John for several seconds. He let out a breathy laugh and pulled away, met with John's shocked blue eyes. John pulled him back up and they began to slow dance again, moving a bit slower than the music.

Under his breath, John murmured, "Way to sell it."

"You like that?" Alexander whispered. "I'll have you know that I had signed up for a theatrical performance class my first semester in college."

"Oh, good. So you're a professional actor, then?"

"Yes, I am," he chuckled. John shook his head and spun Alexander once more. The song came to an end and the two broke away, laughing quietly. Other people came to the dance floor and began to dance. John broke away to dance with his sister, and Alexander with a girl in a pale pink gown, who smiled at him and offered him her hand. She put her hands on his shoulders and they stayed about a foot apart, dancing slowly in circles.

"I'm Peggy," said the girl. She looked about Martha's age, late teens, with black curls pulled half-up into a top knot. She looked almost vain in the close attention that was clearly put into her appearance. "Peggy Schuyler."

"Oh, I know you," said Alexander, cracking a smile. "You're one of the Schuyler sisters. I've seen you guys in modeling and activist things. You and your sister Angelica, right?"

"And Eliza," Peggy reminded.

"Eliza—?"

"Elizabeth? Eliza? She's older than me and younger than Angelica. Sweetheart, and unfortunately she kind of gets left out. But, I mean, compared to _me,_ I can see how she'd get left behind."

"Oh? That's mean," Alexander said.

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Pardon me. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. But John Laurens is a little scary."

With a reddening face, Alexander asked, "Do you know him personally?"

"I've only met him a few times."

"Then you can't judge his character. I'll have you know that he is one of the nicest men I have ever met. You just have to get to know him. If you'll excuse me—"

"Woah, excuse you, I wasn't trying to be rude. I'm a bitch at a glance, too," she paused and laughed, "—And if you get to know me. But honestly, I didn't mean to rub you the wrong way. You're very protective of your beau."

Alexander sighed, pulling away anyway and going to the sidelines. He glanced to see John by the food tables again, talking to some older people.

Then approached two men, one with a smile on his face and the other simply observing. Alexander immediately lit up. "Bobby T!" he exclaimed, then curtly, "Burr."

"Hey, Hammie," laughed Troup. "Good to see you again, man! Been a while. Didn't know you left until you ignored my texts for two weeks."

"And the news talking all about your marriage," interrupted Burr.

"That, too."

Alexander laughed. "Good thing you're keen, Burr. I could've ignored you for three weeks and you wouldn't've noticed if not for the news."

"True. You ignore me a lot."

"I'm busy, man. Oh, sorry, by the way. I haven't talked to anyone since I broke my phone and have been too busy with wedding shit to bother getting a new one. I'm glad you both could make it, though."

"I wouldn't miss a royal wedding for the world," said Troup. The trio broke out in chuckles. "But Ham, I don't know anybody here but Mulligan and Burr."

"Honestly, same. I mean, I know John and his family, but the rest of these elites are an enigma to me."

Burr nodded. "I know at least half of these people."

"Fuck off, trust fund baby."

"You're marrying into wealth, gold-digger."

"Not because he's rich! I happen to actually like the people I fuck, Burr. Unlike you."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not marrying the future king for money."

Alexander, with a heavy sigh, looked up and into Burr's eyes. Troup watched with an amused smirk. Alexander said, "I'm not marrying the future king for money. I actually fucking like John for who he is, you prick. You're ruining my wedding."

A couple seconds of silence passed and Alexander looked away. "You like him," said Burr. He repeated, with emphasis, "Like."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sure."

"John," Alexander turned away with a low growl, eyes searching the large room. "John!"

John heard his name so he broke away from whatever conversation he was having previously with one of the Schuyler sisters and walked over to the trio. Alexander smiled sweetly at him and leaned up to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"John, this is Aaron Burr and Robert Troup. They were my roommates in freshman year of college."

John smiled curiously. "Hey, thanks for coming. I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you, now?" Burr asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, lots. Like your constant discourse with Alex or Troup's book club."

"Hey!" Troup glared, "you told him about those? That was years ago!"

Alexander laughed and tightened his grip on John's shoulder, leaning on him a bit to sell the idea. "Honey, these assholes say I'm too promiscuous for a real relationship."

"Don't include me in this," Troup reminded. "I haven't said anything."

"Well, that's just crazy," John said. "I, for one, can promise that Alex is nothing but a loyal, loving boyfriend— and now husband."

"Aw, see, Burr?" Alexander whispered as he leaned up and pecked John on the cheek. "You're just a dick."

"Hey, whatever. I really don't care," Burr said. Alexander just continued to stare at John.

"I'm sorry, Burr, that you can't possibly believe that anybody could love me."

There was tension now. John saw how hurt Alexander looked and deep inside just wanted to scoop him up and throw him onto the couch and lecture him about how lovable he is.

"Clearly, that's not true," John whispered slowly. He kissed Alexander on the forehead. "'Cause I obviously love him."

"Ham, I really didn't mean anything by it," said Burr apologetically. Troup continued to stand there awkwardly. He tried to figure out something to say but luckily Edward and Thomas Stevens approached, Thomas Stevens holding a glass of half-empty champagne.

"This is a beautiful wedding," Thomas Stevens said. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you," Alexander smiled now. He pulled away from John but John kept their hands together. "Happy you both could make it."

"Any word from Ajax?"

"No, uh, he couldn't make it," Alexander said sadly. "But I'll send him lots of pictures when I stop being lazy and get a new phone."

"We already established that I'm not your sugar daddy," John whispered with a laugh. Alexander, after realizing, practically choked on his tongue trying to conceal laughter. The other men, who obviously hadn't even known the inside joke, half-laughed.

"Oh, hey," Alexander calmed his laughter and looked back at Edward with a smile, "you talk to any of the Schuyler sisters?"

"They're really nice," whispered John. Burr let out a snort.

Edward shrugged. "Nah, man, should I?"

"Go for it!"

"Go for Eliza," Burr said quickly. "Peggy will rip your tongue out and Angelica never stops talking."

"I happen to like my women opinionated, thank you very much," Edward said pointedly, dramatically putting a hand to his chest and looking upwards. The group chuckled a bit. "The feistier, the better. Love a good challenge."

Peggy, with Angelica behind her, appeared behind Edward and leaned on him suddenly, wrapping a casual arm around his shoulders.

"What's this about feisty women?" Peggy smirked. A startled Edward jumped out of the way.

"Nothing, nothing, Miss!"

"Mhm. Hey, Alexander, this is my sister, Angelica," Peggy said, pulling away from Edward, though not before she pat his cheek with the back of her hand and smiled mockingly at him. Angelica stepped forward and shook Alexander's hand.

"Hi, thank you for coming," Alexander smiled, "I've heard a lot about you."

"If it's from tabloids, don't tell her," reminded Peggy sharply with a stage-whisper. "She gets crazy."

"So do you," Angelica glared at her. She turned her attention quickly back to Alexander. "Ah, anyway, hello."

"Like I told Peggy earlier, I recognize you both from magazines and the news. Oh, and John mentioned your names a couple of times, of course," Alexander cocked his head towards John, who just nodded.

"Yeah, our family is close with the royal family since we're the successors."

"Successors?" Alexander asked, but quickly wiped the confusion from his face. "Oh, of course."

"Right, but that's only if John like, died or something, or couldn't rule. Since his sister would be the next heir and she's not twenty yet, our family would take over."

"Your father, Mr. Philip Schuyler?"

"No, no, not necessarily. I'd be the heir."

"Oh," Alexander whispered, lips pursing.

Angelica smiled. "But, I'm glad that John is going to be king. If there's anybody I trust to be a fine leader, it'd be him."

John smiled. "Thank you."

"Ew," Peggy chimed in. "So damn formal. Why don't we talk about more interesting politics, hm? Hey, King Johnny, what're you planning to do about the inflation of the economy?"

"I can't answer that. Not supposed to, or my supervisors would have at me," he laughed. Half of the group chuckled, and Alexander watched Edward slip away to go dance with some woman. Burr left as well, likely to hook up with a fellow aristocrat and have yet another affair. Of course, it was in Alexander's mind that that was so.

"Oh, come now, we're not the media," Peggy teased, barely acknowledging the people who left.  Alexander slipped away as well and made his way for the bar, where Mulligan was drinking a beer and talking to some chick. 

Alexander sat on Mulligan's other side and put a hand on his shoulder.  "Hey, Herc."

"Oh," Mulligan put a finger up to the woman he was chatting with and turned to Alexander, "Hey, Ham!  I know I said it before, but this really is a beautiful—"

"Wedding.  Beautiful wedding," Alexander finished, "I get it.  I've heard it."

"Yo, what's up?"  Mulligan asked with concern.  He quickly turned to the woman, mumbled something too unintelligible for Hamilton to understand, and the woman nodded and got up, thus leaving the two alone.  "Sorry about that.  You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just... you know how I always feel like I don't fit in?"  Alexander asked, eyebrows closing together.

"Ham..."

"Even right now.  This is my goddamn wedding and it's not even r—" he quickly corrected himself smoothly without Mulligan noticing, "—really about me.  It's about John.  And all these other fancy elite people, I just wanted to be a part of it.  I guess that's why I didn't tell any of you guys about John and me," he fibbed, "'cause you all see me as the same loser from New York City.  I shouldn't have even invited them.  They don't understand it like John does.  They don't _get_ this life.  I feel so out of place even when I'm not supposed to be."

Mulligan shook his head slowly and put a comforting hand on Alexander's shoulder.  "Alex, you're okay.  You're doing great.  And what's this matter anyways when it's about marrying the guy you fell in love with?"

"That's— that's the thing," Alexander lowered his voice, "I'm... Burr says it's not real.  That I just did it for the money."

"Burr is a jealous, hypocritical ass.  Pay no attention to him."

"But I think that's what everyone else thinks, too.  Not even just my friends or Ned or Thomas.  Like, everyone in the media and stuff.  I think they think that I'm a gold digger."

"It looks real to me, kid."

" _How_?"

"What do you mean, 'How'?  It's your wedding.  You and John have a connection, I can see it.  And you deserve happiness."

Alexander, at this, just laughed.  He laughed to himself until tears pricked his eyes and he quickly leaned into Mulligan and gave him a hug.  Alexander whispered through giggles, "Fuck off."

Mulligan smiled and went to ruffle his hair, but quickly stopped when he remembered that it was gelled and styled and combed to one side so perfectly.  So, he just gave a few reassuring claps on Alexander's back and said, "You should go enjoy your wedding."

"Thank you," Alexander said softly, still smiling although the chuckles faded.  "Thank you."

Alexander hopped off the stool and weaves through the crowded area to find John, who was still talking to Peggy and Angelica.  Alexander nudged him and took his hand, giving John a second to recover from initial disinterest and startle. 

"Where'd you go?"  John asked.  Alexander squeezes his handed tightly and smiled.

"Just to talk to Hercules," he turned to Peggy and Angelica, "Mulligan, the tailor, not the hero of Olympus."

"Assumed as much.  Well, I assumed that it wasn't the God," said Angelica.  Peggy grinned.

• • •

That night, Alexander and John rode home in a private limousine. Alexander stared at his hands from where he sat across from John.

"Hey," John spoke lowly. Alexander looked up. John half-smiled. "Happy honeymoon?"

"Fuck off," Alexander forced himself to laugh.  He hugged his arms.

"That was a weird night.  Kissing you and all was weird as fuck."

"You're not a bad kisser."

"Does that mean I'm a good kisser?"

Alexander shrugged.  John laughed.

"Man, whatever.  Uh, so about your friends..."

Alexander quickly said, "You're really good at playing a fake husband. It's, um, yeah. Never would have taken you for that sort of person."

"What sort of person?"

"I don't know. You don't seem like you'd be an actor."

"Alex, I've been an actor all my life. Most of what's seen on TV or in the news isn't even me. It's some... other guy, somebody I don't even know."

"I believe it," sighed Alexander. He paused and bit his tongue. Quietly, he said, "—That you act. I believe it. Who I knew from the papers and who I know now are two totally different people. I thought you were cold and violent and cruel... I dunno. But you're not. You're... so much better than what I expected. You're good at pretending to be real in the media. And the fake you at our fake wedding felt real, too. But it's still different, you know? Because the real you is just... you. Damn, I can't explain it. I appreciate the real you even though you're good at acting for the cameras."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's just that I didn't fully expect that from you."

"Um, surprise?"

John laughed and covered his face, leaning into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. The limo went over a slight bump and he sat up again quickly. "You have a way with words. And you're not a bad kisser either, by the way. I didn't really expect you to be so good at acting, either."

"Been acting my whole life, my dear Laurens," Hamilton cocked his head and shrugged with a slight smirk.

"Your friend seemed like a dick."

"Burr is always a dick."

"Why'd you invite him?"

"Because he's one of my only friends. Couldn't just... _not_ invite him. 'Sides, he's an aristocrat. He could slither his way in anyway. Might as well invite him myself and be courteous."

"He's a dick."

"And...?" Hamilton questioned expectantly.

John just sighed. "Don't know."

"Thanks for coming to my defense, by the way."

"Yeah, you held onto me like a spooked cat."

"I was selling it," Hamilton replied quite defensively.

"I know?" John said as though it were a question. "I wasn't accusing you of anything, I was stating a fact. I was just trying to get across that you seemed really hurt by whatever Aaron Burr was saying."

"He's a dick."

"We've established that.  Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"You don't seem okay.  What exactly did Burr say?"

"I told you," Hamilton glared, "he was implying that I'm too promiscuous to settle down and that I'm a gold digger, which is rich coming from him since he sleeps with _tons_ of women and keeps a diary about it— I know 'cause I've read it— and he's a literal trust fund baby so he wouldn't know what it's like to struggle for money.  And everyone thinks that anything I do is solely for personal gain with is fuckin' dumb 'cause it's _not._ There's more to me than some helpless fucking trash bastard from the Caribbean.  It's either, 'Oh, Hamilton, we're so sorry for you!' or, 'Oh, Hamilton, we fucking hate your illegitimate, immigrant guts!' and nothing in between.  People don't just see _me._ "

John didn't want to say anything about how, technically speaking, Hamilton was only marrying him for money and how their relationship wasn't real; so, he kept his thoughts to himself to avoid upsetting Alexander further. 

"Well?"  Alexander grew impatient.  "You wanted me to talk about my feelings, there's my feelings.  I'm just an immigrant whore's son and that's all I'll ever be.  There, I said that, too.  What, weren't you expecting that?"

"Alex, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing.  You're just seeing the real me.  The tired, lightweight, achy me that had a ton of champagne and a ton of insults from the people who're supposed to be my friends. I'm tired," he announced suddenly, then softly, "I'm sorry. I just can't do this right now."

"Sleep, then... it's a ways back to the house. I'll wake you up when we're close."

"Thanks," Alexander said, stretching his arms back briefly before laying down on his side of the cushy limo seats and using his arm as a pillow.

John took off his white suit jacket and tossed it at him; "Use this," he said, "wad it up like a pillow."

"Thanks," he mumbled again. He followed Laurens' words and laid back down with the balled up jacket. He noted the scent and tried not to allow it to drive him mad. It was overwhelmingly attractive.

Several moments passed. "I'm sorry," John said, "about your shitty friend. And about your upbringing."

Alexander feigned to be asleep so he wouldn't have to answer.


	5. There's A Twist

John tapped his fingers against the wood table. It was past midnight, everybody in the house asleep; including Alexander, who went to bed early. Ever since John's coronation, Alexander had been acting odd.

"John, I'm worried for you," Martha said with desperation in her voice. She stopped her pacing of the dim kitchen and leaned against a chair. "You've been acting weird and so has Alexander. You need to do something about it."

"What are you suggesting?" sighed John.

"Divorce him."

"What?!"

"Look, John—" She closed her eyes, stressed, "neither of you are happy."

"Yeah, because it's not real! But I can't just kick him out!"

"Dad's gone, and he's not coming back to punish you. He'd probably be happier anyway if you just stopped this silly propaganda. You need to do something about Alexander sooner or later, because he can't stay here."

"Shit, Martha..." John put his head in his hands and groaned. "Goddammit."

"So?"

"No, I can't..."

"It's killing the both of you," she said. "You both deserve to find real love."

"Martha."

"If you don't get rid of him, I will. You need to get him out of here."

Alexander, who was around the corner eavesdropping, didn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation.  He silently made his way back upstairs and into his room.  He paced the floor. 

He paced for nearly a half hour when suddenly a knock came on his door.  He fell back onto his bed, laid down, and heard another knock.  In his best "I-just-woke-up" voice, Alexander said, "Yeah...?"

"It's John."

"Come in," Alexander said slowly. John opened the door and came in, hand moving to the light switch but he froze. Alexander rolled over and groaned into his pillow. "You don't have to turn on the light," he mumbled. He heard the door close and John's footsteps approach.

"Did I wake you up?" John asked. Alexander sat up slowly and made way for John to sit on the bed as well.

"Yeah, but It's fine," Alexander lied. "What's up?"

John sighed and sat at the end of the bed. "Don't know."

"You... don't know?"

He shrugged.  "I just felt like talking."

"You never feel like talking," Alexander joked.  "...What is it?"

"I just felt like talking," he insisted. "I'm currently faced with an ethical dilemma... and it's eating me alive. I don't know what to do."

Alexander knew exactly what he was talking about. The half-hour of pacing had paid off only slightly, and the solution he came up with was honestly a terrible one. He originally wanted to sleep on it and decide in the morning if he would go through the plan, but here John was, perfectly just sitting there late at night and ready to seize the moment with.

Yup, all he had to do was lean in and pretend to be all over John so John wouldn't kick him out. 'Cause fake "real" feelings meant more than just fake feelings. If Alexander could fool John, that meant that he could buy himself some more time with this luxurious lifestyle. Nobody could criticize him here, call him a whore's son and go on about how he'll never achieve in life. Here, he was living in aristocracy, and if he had to fake some feelings a bit to stay in aristocracy, so be it.

Besides, it wasn't fair that John was going to pull out of the deal and leave Alexander in the cold. It was bad enough already that he was a political pawn, and now this?

Alexander knew what had to be done. He knew he had to do this to survive. But oh, God, was it hard to just _do_ it already.

After several more moments of staring at John's lips, hands in his lap and his own lips slightly parted, Alexander had made his decision. And since there was only silence between him and John, he decided to break it. "John?" he whispered. John looked at him curiously. Alexander, after taking a deep breath, whispered, "This is weird, right? Pretending to be like, married?"

"Uh, yeah... I guess..." John mumbled.

Alexander leaned in slightly. "Well, I have to be honest. I think that I don't want it to be so... pretend, anymore." And with that, Alexander leaned in more and pressed his lips very slowly to John's. He could practically feel his hands trembling as he did so, and caught on to the hesitation of John's own body before John kissed back.

Alexander felt John's hand on his cheek and thus began to slowly pull away. He laughed breathily, awkwardly, John's hand remaining on his cheek.

"A-Alex," John murmured, eyebrows drawing close together. He pulled away and laughed himself, turning his body away from Alexander. "Jesus..."

"I-I'm sorry, was that—?"

"It was good. I told you before, you're not a bad kisser. It's just... wow. I didn't _expect..._ shit."

"Was it—? Like, am I just fucking crazy, or did you feel something, too?" Alexander asked hopefully. He bit his lip and avoided John's eyes, knowing he just made an irreversible decision by lying to the man whom he was depending on to let him stay.

John dug his nails into the fabric of his pants over his knee and taking a moment to breathe. "Shit, yeah... it did, Alex. Wow."

Alexander felt a pang of guilt but he shrugged it off and smiled shyly at John. "For real?"

"Yeah. Man, I never thought I could feel something in a kiss with you."

"Hah, same."

John nervously chuckled and turned his body before kissing Alexander quickly on the cheek and then getting off of the bed.

"I should go to bed. Um, thank you, Alex. For— you know. I needed that."

Alexander smiled and nodded curtly. John left the room, leaving Alexander to contemplate what the hell he had just done, and what the hell he was feeling. It was like some sort of hybrid of guilt from leading John on, a strange new desire to kiss him again, and more guilt from being turned on by a kiss that was supposed to be fake. His mind was a mess and his heart was racing. So, Alexander laid down, covered himself with his comforter, and wished there was some sort of way to erase himself from the face of the earth.

• • •

"Morning," John said with a smile, pouring coffee.  James was at the table drinking orange juice.  "I made you your coffee."

"Oh," Alexander mumbled.  He forced himself to smile. 

"France vanilla, like you like it."  John reached out, handing Alexander the blue mug. 

"Thanks," he whispered with a half-laugh, almost running into John and laughing even more with a more nervous hilt because of it.  He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee slowly.  John gave him a gleeful look.  In a hesitant movement, he leaned towards Alexander and let his hand fall near his hip.  Alexander leaned into the touch and stood on his toes, wrapped his arms around John's neck, and playfully puckered his lips. 

James has glanced up from his phone to see John and Alexander peck one another's lips.  John laughed and kissed Alexander's temple, then let both of his hands fall away from Alexander's back as he stepped back again. 

"PDA," Harry declared as he entered the room.  "Gross."

Alexander covered his reddening face and grabbed his coffee before scampering out of the room, John close behind. They sat in the dining room.

"This is so weird," John commented softly, sitting across from Alexander. "Do you think... was that weird?"

"Hah, only a little," he fibbed, "but I think it was good."

"Do you want to do it again?"

"What, kiss?" he laughed, forcing a smile.  John nodded slightly.  Alexander realized at that moment that he couldn't just kiss John once and call it good; he'd have to play this up a whole lot. 

Luckily, there was only a small part of him that truly didn't want to kiss John.

Unluckily, that small part was guilt, and it was ever growing.

Alexander could only find soft laughter as an answer.  He knew he had to play this part well, but it was so goddamn difficult because he was only hurting John by faking it. 

"Let me finish my coffee first," Alexander resolved to say.  As he said that, Martha walked into the room.  She smiled curtly as Alexander and shot John a look before going to the kitchen.  Alexander, testing how trustworthy John really was, asked:  "What's her deal?"

John tapped his fingers on the table.  "Ah, nothing."

"Oh.  Okay."

 


	6. Guilty and Lamenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not safe for work

Alexander found himself getting too comfortable again, kissing John like he meant it and pretending he wanted to be more than friends.  It had been several weeks, during which John was very busy (as per usual) so Alexander had time to think.  John, too, had his thinking space, as Martha continued to encourage him to kick Alexander out.  He'd stall with questions like, "But where would he go?"  and "What if he tells the media it was fake?"  He left out the part where Alexander would be devastated, and how John himself was realizing that he took a major liking to the man. 

One night, weeks later, Martha had to put this to an end. She told John off in the kitchen with harsh words, saying that they could send Alexander away with money if need be. Her main concern repeatedly was how sad she thought John must be; after all, his beau wasn't even real, and it was nothing but a lie.

Alexander heard this. He got nervous and went back to his room, listening for John's footsteps as they went up the stairs.  It was now or never.  He had to do something to convince John to let him stay, and if that meant what he was both dreading and (quite guiltily) wishing for, then he'd have to act quickly.

He knocked on John's bedroom door.  Did he want this for selfish reasons?  Yes.  Did he want to satisfy his curiosity and longing?  Maybe.  Alexander debated and debated with himself in just the few seconds he stood at the door.  He told himself he was only going to do this because he had to stay a royal; but why exactly did he want to stay a royal?  Was it because he liked the attention and riches and never having to worry about money?  Or was it because he liked being around John and his siblings and the other amazing people he met in their circle?  Perhaps he was really feeling something for John because the mere thought of being kicked out and never speaking to him again gave Alexander anxiety that tore through his whole body, making him feel numb and dissociated.  

John opened the bedroom door in his boxers, toothbrush in his mouth.  He looked irritated but hid his frustration when he saw Alexander.  He welcomed him in and walked to his bathroom to spit and finished brushing his teeth while Alexander sat on his bed.  The nervousness was making Alexander's finger twitch and tap against his knee.  

John finally finished and rinsed before walking back out to the bedroom.  "Hey, Lex..."

"Hey," Alexander whispered, staring at his shirtlessness.  John leaned onto the bed and kissed his cheek as if asking consent to kiss him on the lips.  Alexander, mostly subconsciously, decided to go right for John's lips.  John pulled away and stayed standing.

"I'm sorry, let me just get a shirt," he said, but Alexander had to stop him.

"No, wait, don't do that.  I, um... like looking at you," he whispered, voice lowered.  John blinked in slight shock but didn't pull away.

"Well, that's not fair," he said, playing along, "because I'm sure I'd like looking at you, too."

Alexander immediately sat up on his knees, positioning himself in a way on the bed that made him look more exposed, sexier.  He pulled off his shirt and wadded it up.  He held it in his lap tightly.  "Like that?"

"I... yeah."

Alexander smirked proudly and shifted a bit.  "If you get the lights, I'll let you take off my pants, too..."

"Alex, what'd you come here for?" John murmured as he got on the bed as well and crawled cautiously on top of him.  His voice was low and sultry, almost dangerous.  Hamilton couldn't help the fact that his little manipulate sex escapade was giving him a boner.  He hated and loved it so bad.

"I came here for this," he admitted gently.  He touched John's cheek to draw him closer.

"I'll get the lights."

"Do you have protection?"

"Somewhere..."

"Lube?"

"Yeah."

Alexander teased, "Why do you have lube, John?"

"Shut up."

He just grinned and watched John search the bathroom for the items he needed.  It faded so a half-smile as he fidgeted.  John soon left with a pack of condoms and the bottle of lube, turned off the light, and got back onto the bed. He began to kiss down Alexander's neck and slowly moved his hand to palm him through his boxers. He pulled his lips away as Alexander grunted and bucked his hips.

"You like that?" John mumbled against his neck. His breath was hot and tingly.

"Yeah..."

"Perfect. I want to make you feel good. Tell me," he took away his hand then slid it into his boxers, "if it doesn't feel good... I'll adjust, okay?"

Alexander tensed and forced himself to continue his slowly exaggerated moans (despite his real emotions and libido) and rubbed his hand over John's back slowly.  He loved the feeling of his skin, tight, muscled and soft.  

But he felt so, so guilty.

"Hey, you okay?" John whispered.  He began to pull away but Alexander grabbed his arm, pulling him back to his body.  It was an impulsive move.  He felt sick, but he wanted John so badly.

"I'm good," he insisted weakly.

"Alex..."

"Please, I'm good, don't stop."

John gave him a worried look, but continued anyway and kissed his neck again.  He savored Alexander's warm skin on his lips, a feeling of happiness arising.  But not much time passed before Alexander's hand slowly slid off of his back and he fell semi-limp.

"Alex," John said.  He pulled away again and sat up.  Alexander barely moved, staring at John.  John bit his lip.  "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"We don't have to do this.  If you want, we could just watch TV or something.  Or... I know it's late, but we could set up some sort of mock dinner, like we're at a fancy restaurant."

Alexander squirmed.  "No, I want to do this."

"Are you sure?  Like I said, I'm good with doing something else—"

"Yes, I'm sure.  I don't want your stupid 'romantic' dinner.  Your kitchen is like a goddamned restaurant anyway."

John raised an eyebrow and began to get off the bed.  Alexander grabbed his hand.  

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly.  "I really do want this.  Please.  Let's do this, okay?"  He sat up and pressed his body again John's, eyes closed.  He traced his back and lowered his voice.  "For real, I want you."

Hesitantly, John kissed him again.  He felt their weight shift as Alexander leaned back onto the bed, arms around John's neck.  

No more words were spoken as John helped Alexander undo his pants, then undid his own, then he pressed his lips against every soft part of Alexander's body he could. His skin was soft but his muscle was hard, toned, body just the slightest bit clammy in a way that made John squeeze onto him. He squeezed his thigh and held him close, lips barely moving as he nuzzled his face against Alexander's relaxed neck.

Alexander remembered why John had pulled away several minutes earlier and reminded himself to be more engaged. He gyrated his hips against John's body. He felt his cock brush against his abs and raised a leg, continuing. Hot—so hot—so much heat. He was burning. John's hands and lips felt so good, but he felt so guilty. The touch was guilty. Alexander was lying to him. At least, maybe, he was at first. He had been lying at first. Lying to the king of a goddamned country. He was lying to his husband. He was lying to himself.

John kissed Alexander on the cheek and moved back, hands still on his body.  He rest his head against Alexander's shoulder and moved one hand down to his erection.  Alexander hummed and pushed his hips up, encouraging John to just get on with it.  He wanted this to be over.  The guilt was killing him... and soon that guilt would turn to lament, the lament to resentment, and the resentment to...

"That's good," Alexander whispered breathily.  He wrapped his arms around John and began to play with his hair.  That was a nice distraction.  His hair was soft and just a little bit damp.  "Mm..."

John found Alexander's responses to be encouraging and moved his hand a bit faster.  He rubbed with meticulousness, milking the feeling from Alexander with his slow, then fast, attentive, slow again, movements.  Alexander moved his face to the side of the pillow and breathed into it, strained.  The feeling of John's body on top of him, of his damp hair and his warm face, of John's hand moving like this on his cock, it was all so good.  Alexander squirmed and released one hand from John so that he could grasp the pillow behind his head and pull it to his face.

John didn't talk.  He didn't feel it necessary.  He didn't want to talk.  He just moved his body up closer to Alexander's and buried his nose in his neck.  Alexander was so soft and handsome, his neck smelling so good.  John prayed silently to himself that his bed would smell like Alexander the next day.

The next day; the next morning; tonight, after sex—how would that go?  Would Alexander retreat to his own room and stay there for the remainder of the night?  Or would he sleep in John's bed with him?  Would they have to decide what they wanted to be, and then tell Martha and anybody who knew their marriage to be fake?

The marriage was still fake, John thought, but this relationship wasn't.  Alexander would stay, wouldn't he?

Alexander choked out a moan and held John's head against his neck, urging him to give him the last little bit he needed to come.  He bit his lip with force that could make it bleed.

John pulled his head away from Alexander's grab and got on top of him, not taking his hand away.  His free hand he used and entangle in Alexander's hair.  John was sitting on his upper thighs, slumped against his body, grasping and urging with desperation as Alexander twisted and writhed.  He let his forehead fall against Alexander's and he nuzzled his face until he could get a good pathway for his own lips to press against Alexander's.  John kissed him, breathed out his nose, and then held his breath as he felt Alexander clearly doing the same.

With all of this sudden motion, this intimacy, this heat, Alexander released and groped for John as he did so.  His body was on fire.  For a moment he felt brain dead.  It was pure ecstasy.  He had moved his face so his mouth was no longer reliant on John's, and he let out the large breath he had been holding.  He panted and tried to regain air.  Meanwhile, John kissed his cheek and jaw.  

Alexander didn't want to say anything.  He felt so tired just from that, then suddenly felt angry that he had just come in his underwear.  There was still more to be done.  He had to get John off.  He sat up slightly and put everything he had into kissing John and rubbing his bare back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, still out of breath.  John stopped kissing him.

"What?"

"For..." he rolled his eyes to himself at the stammer, "coming so soon.  It's like the lube and condom are useless, now."

"Oh," John mumbled, "Don't worry about it."

"Let me give back to you..."  Alexander dragged his nails down John's sides teasingly.  John got off of Alexander and laid next to him, where Alexander slid his hand down his stomach and over to his underwear.  He palmed him through the material and hid his face.  He felt the coolness from the mess he had made of himself in his own boxers and sighed.

John noticed the way Alexander was shifting and pulled his hand away.  "Do you need those off?" he whispered, voice low and sultry.  Alexander couldn't muster the courage to say anything so he glanced down at his underwear instead.  John took it upon himself to held him tug them off.  He wadded them up and tossed them somewhere to the floor to be forgotten.  

Alexander thought it would've just been so much easier to give John a hand job to get him off, then that would be it for the night, and he was already so tired, so guilty, so hot, but somehow he found himself pulling John down to kiss him.  He leaned to one side to search blindly for the lube and condom.  

John reached and grabbed it for him.  "You sure?" he asked, to which Alexander hummed and nodded.  "Can you get it up again?"

"I'm not, like, fifty, I can get a boner after coming," Alexander returned with bite, irritated.  John chuckled and kissed him.

Alexander realized that he had deliberately chosen the hard way, and for what?  Now he'd have to go through all the adjusting again—the, "is this okay?"'s again—and then John would have to get off, and then he would have to get off again because he already knew John wouldn't let him not get off.  Stupid bastard was way too attentive and careful.  Alexander groaned softly as he turned over onto his knees.

"You okay?" John asked.  He rubbed Alexander's arched back.

"Fine," Alexander barked, "Now c'mon..."

John, although slightly doubtful, opened the bottle of lube and put a little too much on his finger.  He rubbed the lube over Alexander's hole and started to prep him.

Alexander huffed and buried his face in the pillow again.  He was increasingly unaware of the drool escaping his parted lips and falling to the pillow and more focused on the controversies in his head.  Now that he was truly calmed from his orgasm, he was realizing the horror of what had just happened.  He let John get him off; now he was letting him fuck him.  He was having sex with his fake husband.  He was manipulating the king... the sex felt so good, it felt so amazing to have his body against John's, but he couldn't help but feel guilt.  He was going to end up hurting somebody with this mess—John or himself, or both—and the knowledge was tearing him apart.  

John was still lying to him.  It made him angry.  He would ask what the tension was between him and Martha and John would just lie to his face—"oh, nothing,"—when it wasn't nothing.  It was quite possibly the most important thing for Alexander to know.  Martha wanted him gone.

That's the only reason I'm doing this, he lied to himself.  Because otherwise, he'd be back on the streets.  John provided him a safety net, a comfort he never knew he needed.  He had been walking a fucking tightrope for so long by himself that when he was only half way across he decided he didn't want to do it anymore.  He could fall, die, but who cared?  Not him.  Not until he realized he had that net there.  Then he could finally fall and land on the net.  No more tightrope.  He could wrap himself up in the net and latch onto the rope, tangle his limbs in it, and never be on the tightrope again.  He could be so safe on the ground.

But if he were to leave, he'd have to go back up to the platform, no net, no nothing.  Alexander gripped the sheets in frustration and ground his teeth.  He wanted to scream.  He let out a muffled cry against the pillow and tugged himself back to reality.  His hips collapsed against the bed and he wouldn't look up.  

For a few minutes now already, John was trying to get Alexander to tell him what was wrong.  It was long before Alexander himself had collapsed or even known he was so outwardly upset.  When he did, he just curled his knees influence his chest and held the pillow against his face.

"Alex, please.  I'm sorry if I hurt you—or-or upset you.  Alex."

Alexander didn't look up.  He reached for John and pulled him close.  Safety net.  Safety.  Don't leave.  Don't leave.  Please, don't leave.

"Alex," John begged.

"I can't do this," he muttered.

"It's okay.  Don't worry about it.  You don't have to, you never had to, I told you—"

"I have to go.”

“Alex.”

Alexander didn’t listen. He twisted away from John under the blankets and stumbled to find his clothes, ignoring John’s confused pleas. He pulled on his pants and picked up his tee and soiled underwear. John got up as well and reached uselessly for him. Alexander was already out the door.

John didn’t want to make things worse. He glanced back at his bed, the messed up covers and the shadow of Where Alexander’s body earlier had laid. He closed his bedroom door and slid down to the floor, head in his hands and elbows against his knees.


	7. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton can’t hold his tongue. Laurens is worried.

Alexander remained in bed.  He couldn't force himself to move.  He was ashamed of what he did, how everything he held dear was founded upon a lie, how he was just that desperate for some sort of bond and security that he was willing to manipulate John like that.  John didn't deserve such cruelty.  

And now he was alone again.  But, he knew that if he got out of bed and went to John, he'd welcome him with open arms.  Maybe he could tell him about everything that went through his mind; about every thought, his reasoning, and his new realizations.  Then, John might forgive him.  

Or he could keep lying and act like it never happened.  He'd go to John and just explain that maybe he got nervous about having sex and it was nothing to do with him.  He would show his affections in a real way, continuing to do what he was doing before, but this time it's real.  

Alexander rolled to his side and bunched up his comforter.  He held it to his chest.  He'd only known John for several months.  But, he was married to John.  Whether or not he liked it, he was stuck with him.  Unless Martha got her way and kicked him out, of course.  

No, no, no, Martha wouldn't get her way, John wouldn't allow that.  Unless, of course, John happens to be mad at him after he tells the truth.

He groaned.  It was all too much.  He just wanted to cry and sleep and then cry some more.  

• • •

It was John's duty, he supposed, that he had to confront Alexander.  He couldn't leave him alone for too long.  It had been a night and a day, now, and as far as he knew, Alexander hadn't eaten.  He had been working all day, trying to get his mind off of Alexander, but ended up worrying himself more than he wanted to worry.  As soon as he had finished the last of his paperwork and listened to the last of his secretary's yapping, John went to find Alexander.

He felt so bad about what had happened—whatever it was.  There were a million things he wanted to say: things about being sorry, things about how he didn't mean to make Alexander cry, things about ways to make it up to him.  And things about how he could fix it, definitely—he could take him out to dinner or to a show, they could just relax and watch TV, or maybe Alexander didn't want to see him at all.  He'd be okay with that.  He just wanted to let Alexander know, at least, that he cared.  That's all.

John knocked on the door.  Martha had asked him earlier if he knew why Alexander was so withdrawn.  He told her to drop it.  She asked if he had maybe told Alexander that they were to divorce.  John promptly told her that they weren't going to, thus ending the conversation.

"Alex," John said softly.  He knocked for a third time.  "I'm coming in if you don't open the door."

There was again no answer, no shuffling or clattering, so John followed through with his promise and slowly opened the door.  Of course, he had seen everything there was to see about Alexander's body, but he didn't want to be rude.  

On the bed laid Alexander, feigning to be asleep.  John knew he wasn't really asleep.  He could tell.

"I know you're awake.  Are you okay?" John whispered.  Alexander had tried for several more seconds to pretend to sleep but opened his eyes in defeat.  He needed more time.  He hadn't figured out what lie to tell John next.

"I'm okay," Alexander said, sitting up.  He gave John a welcoming stare, expecting him to sit anyway.  He wanted him to sit.  Whatever he had to tell him, he couldn't tell him from the other side of the room.

John closed the door behind him and sat on the bed next to Alexander.  Alexander shifted and pulled back the blankets from his chest.

"About last night... I'm sorry if I—" John began, but quickly stopped when he saw Alexander's eyes.  Something about them made his speech falter.

Alexander spoke to mask the silence.  "You didn't do anything," he said.  "I was just uncomfortable.  Not because of you," he clarified quickly, "I—I just... I fucked up."

"What?"  John leaned toward Alexander, hand curled on top of the comforter.

"It's—I've been m-mad," he decided, "lately about the way that things have been.  Again, not 'cause of you."

"Alex... if you don't want to get into anything right now—"

"It's not because of you," he insisted, annunciating it in an annoyed tone.  

"Then what is it?"

"I can't stop thinking."

"About?"

"Just... stuff, I guess..."

"What stuff, Alexander?"

"Oh, my God... shut up!"

"What?" John returned.

"I'm trying to tell you and you keep interrupting me.  Just stop talking, goddamn!  I'm angry because I've been lying and I can't keep it bottled up!"

John shifted, taken aback.  He wanted to ask what about, but didn't want Alexander to snap at him again, so he stayed quiet.

Alexander sighed.  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I— I really, really care about you. I do. Do you believe that?"

"Should I have any reason not to?"

"Because it all started out as fake," Alexander said, then realized that's what could lead him into his explanation. That it was a lie at first and that he was scared. He was so, so scared. He was—

"Hey... you're shaking."

Alexander folded his arms and tucked them against his chest. "I'm just cold."

"Do you want me to..." John trailed off. He felt too awkward to finish it. Warm you? Hug you? Squeeze you and never let go? Hah!

Alexander decided not to answer. "It was all fake at first. And it's just weird. When did you start... feeling not weird about it? John? Like, when did you realize that you felt something real for me? A-And what did it feel like? Was it scary? I was scared, I guess, but it wasn't just 'cause... well... how long have you really felt this way?"

"I don't know. It was before... before we had kissed, obviously, and I don't know what changed, it just did. Because I like talking to you. You're special to me. I wanted you in more ways than I could count on my two hands. I felt bad that I felt that way."

"So did I." He stopped and squeezed the sheets, felt them slip from his grip, and then felt his fingernails press into his palm. "I-I mean, I didn't think about that. I always felt like that. Not always-always, but before I... I felt like I had to... shit!..."

"Alex?"

Alexander pressed the meat of his hands into his eyes as he rest his elbows on his knees. He cursed again under his breath. Man up. Say it. Go on, you fucking idiot, say it already!

"I know that Martha wants me gone. I know she wants you to 'divorce' me," he explained quickly, choking himself with the words so that he began to stammer, "because I-I overheard it, and I was scared, I didn't want to leave, so I had to do something, okay? I had to stay. I thought it was just because I was selfish, because I didn't want to leave this life of luxury, but time and time again I kept feeling horrible things I didn't want to feel! I kept getting so scared at the thought of leaving you! I couldn't do it, I couldn't divorce, 'cause I care, and I don't want to. I can't imagine not having you in my life. And so Martha kept saying things and I kept thinking, y'know, 'What have I got to do to get him to let me stay?' So I kept... I kept kissing you. And spending time with you. And the more I felt these things for you the sadder it made me feel because the feelings were real, it's just that I made myself believe that the motive wasn't."

Alexander took a big breath. He had more to stay, but he wanted a second to regain air and keep himself from pouring out too much. John showed no emotion.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he continued on quietly. "I don't know if I just... I'm scared, I didn't want to feel things for you. It was easier then. It was easier to be friends, maybe, and it felt like it would have been easier to pretend to be into you. But it wasn't," he said, "it wasn't easier, because it was real, and it really, really fuckin' tore me apart. Caring about you hurt me in ways I couldn't describe. I just wanted to be with you and then I felt guilty. I knew it was real. I knew it was fucking real when I wanted to have sex with you. Oh," he remembered, "the other night... it's just, I heard you arguing with Martha again.

"I felt like maybe... maybe it was my very last chance to show you that I wanted to stay. And Fuck, John, it felt so good! I loved it. I've never felt so good about the person I'm having sex with. But I felt like fucking shit because I was guilty. Even though it was real, technically. I just wasn't honest with you and it made me fucking hate myself. I wanted to cry and I... I knew I fucked up. Okay? I admit it. I fucked up. I fucking... I ruined what could have been the best relationship in my life! and for what? Because I didn't want to be attached, or feel like... I-I didn't want to admit to myself... I just know it. I know you're probably mad. Most likely," he decided, "and I don't blame you. But please, please, don't kick me out.  I need you.  I really do.  

"And I know I fucked up.  I told you.  But I felt guilty.  I had to tell you the truth but it's like, the lie was true, so I don't even know what I'm doing.  I haven't ever felt something like this before.  Nobody I was ever with cared this much about me and so I've never felt this way about them.  I'm fucking falling for you, and it's so new and it's... before, I lived in the Caribbean on a small island.  M-my dad left my mom when I was young.  I stopped really believing in love... it had been a fantasy when I was young but then he left and I knew they weren't in love.  My mom left her first husband and she never got married to my dad.  It just didn't seem real.  People I saw were happy but I never had that kind of model in my life for healthy love and... and I just..."

Alexander trailed off.  He heaved and rubbed his Adam's apple.  His throat felt dry and sore.  He couldn't force himself to look at John.  

He heaved.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I didn't mean to go on talking like that.  I just... fuck."

John didn't say anything for a long time.  He had been staring ahead.  Alexander still didn't look.  He was so afraid to.  At long last, John spoke.

"'Fuck' is right," John spat.  He was practically shaking.  "I don't even know what to say to you right now."

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm so glad you're sorry, but sorry doesn't fix the fact that you lied to me."

"I didn't," he defended himself quickly.

"You tried to have sex with me when you knew it was only because you were worried I was going to kick you out!  Do you really believe I'd do that?"

"I-I don't know.  I don't know.  But the feelings are real."

John shook his head and growled.  

"John, please," Alexander whispered.  He looked at last at John.  He made a weak attempt to reach for him.  John stayed still, staring at the wall.  He was upset.  Very upset.  He had watery eyes and a clenched jaw.  Alexander squeezed his hand.

John ripped it away.

"Please... John, please.  Please forgive me.  Or just talk to me, something, I just..."

More silence. Alexander felt ill.  He felt his lip quivering and quickly tried to hide the heat of his face.  You fuck-up.  You fucked it all up again.  Stop ruining everything.

John stood and left without a word.  Alexander jumped up and rushed after him, following.  They clomped down the stairs as Alexander desperately called his name.  Down the stairs, through the halls, dining room, kitchen—

"John," Alexander pleaded softly.  It was dark.  Nobody was around.  They were alone in the kitchen.  John was filling a cup with water.  Alexander strained to see him.  He groped for him in the darkness and found his forearm.  He squeezed.

John felt the coolness of the glass on his skin and squeezed tighter; the tighter Alexander held onto his arm, the tighter he held the cup.  He shook then tossed the water on him.  In shock, Alexander released his grip and backed up, exclaiming, "What the hell!"

"You deserve it.  You can clean it up, too," John muttered.  He placed the glass in the big metal sink.

"Fine.  I deserve it.  But have you—"

"I haven't.  This doesn't mean I forgive you and it doesn't mean I'll just forget about your... stupidity."  John walked past Alexander to leave the dark kitchen.  He stopped for a moment, kissed his dripping forehead, then continued on.  He added, "Eat some food.  Martha said you hadn't eaten all day."

Alexander squeezed his fist as John left for real.  He wiped his nose and made a small whimper.  A small smile spread on his lips and he closed his eyes.  He went to go fetch a hand towel from cupboard.

John might still be mad. He could remain mad for however long he pleased. But, Alexander knew, that at the very least he didn't hate him. Hopefully.


End file.
